


Fausse impression

by Katherinehgt



Category: Castle
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-12
Updated: 2018-05-25
Packaged: 2019-04-22 00:15:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14296554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katherinehgt/pseuds/Katherinehgt
Summary: She's got only two days to herself before she has to go back, and so far, she's spent one in the rain, running doggedly from one bookstore to the other. Her comrades would probably think that she's crazy, misinterpreting obstinacy for madness. She has to find it. Bookstore AU. Pre-series.





	1. Chapter 1

The heels of her slick leather ankle boots hit the wet, dark asphalt with a sharp clap as she hastens her pace, swearing under her breath as the rain strikes her umbrella with renewed fervor. Her hold hardens around the cold, metallic shaft as a particularly strong gust of wind almost snatches it away from her. Her hand is red with the effort of fighting against the feisty wind and the already bitter cold, her feet drenched to the bones despite the makeshift shelter above her head that's not too useful anymore. The sky above is heavily charged, splitting apart with a deafening bang that cuts through her, the exposed skin at her neck shivering. The determined lines on her face never drop, her legs speeding up with purpose.

She's cold, drenched and exhausted, the week worth of exhausting training catching up on her and making it hard to fight the capricious weather all day. But Kate Beckett does not give up, not in the face of injustice and crime, nor under the wrath of erratic weather. Generally, one is more likely to spend a rainy, cold day off work at home with a hot beverage and a good book or a movie, preferably wrapped up in a fluffy blanket. Especially, when the week has been rough and gruelling , leaving your limbs sore from the brutal drills, and your mind bruised from hard discipline, and self-doubt. She's got only two days to herself before she has to go back, and so far, she's spent one in the rain, running doggedly from one bookstore to the other. Her comrades would probably think that she's crazy, misinterpreting obstinacy for madness.

She needs to find it - the book. She'd learnt earlier this week, quite by chance, that the limited-edition copy of her favorite author's brand new novel _and_ series was to be released in the upcoming days. Kate Beckett was surely _not_ one to let out a girly shriek in excitement, but she won't hide that she actually grinned wide enough that she'd had to bury her face in her pillow so as to avoid getting teased. That had been before finding out that barely three days later, most copies were sold out. This is why she decided to spend her weekend looking for one, even if it meant running through the rain in New York City for two days straight. It's not like she's got anything to do or anyone to see, anyway. By the time she finds a small, but cozy looking bookstore she's never been to before, the rain has subsided to a faint drizzle, the sky clearing up and letting through thin sun rays that draw tiny rainbows here and there.

She folds her wrecked umbrella, shaking it away from herself in a fruitless attempt to get most of the water off it, and pushes a wet strand of hair behind her ear. Her eyes narrow as she brings her face closer to the glass door - can't tell whether the small bookshop is open or not. It looks lit, but barely. With a shrug, she wraps her hand around the cold handle and pushes forward, smiles as the door cedes and triggers a cheery chime.

Kate sets down the umbrella on the floor, just by the door, and lets her eyes adjust to the dim light as they travel the empty, small room. Unzipping her raincoat, she walks around the narrow aisles, follows the vivid creeper that runs and snakes around the shelves, between the books. She likes it. Loves how the singular touch of vegetation and the smell of old books mix together, calls to her most well-hidden senses. She runs her fingers along the dusty, dark wood as her eyes eagerly search for the mystery section. When she comes face to face with it, she can only tell how small and limited it is. Her heart sinks, brows knitting together, because she knows there is little chance she'll find it here. Her fingers curl around the shelf as her eyes scan the book spines over and over again, shoulders sagging.

She must look stupid, staring at the book spines as if the book would appear by magic. Thing is, she really wanted - _needed_ that book, had thought about it all week, only to face disappointment and it's not fair. She's working hard to graduate in a few more months, pours everything she can into it, and rarely _ever_ finds a way to relax or just enjoy herself for a moment. Do anything else other than train _hard._

With a sigh, she walks away, back to the central room where an oval-shaped table sits, topped by a pyramid of books she didn't think were necessary to look at, but maybe…

When she reaches the room from the back, a man is standing by said table with a book in his hands and _oh,_ that's 'Gathering Storm', _her_ book. She's looked for it all day, and to _hell_ if she's gonna let some guy take it away from her. Surely _not._

Her blood begins to pump through her veins and simmers ridiculously fast, rushes to her cheeks in no time at all as she crosses the room in three long strides, crossing her arms over her chest once she comes to a halt before the oblivious stranger. If he heard her, he doesn't show it. In fact, he seems not to have noticed her at all, he's just... staring at the book.

She clears her throat once, watches his frame shake as he startles and drops the book, the sound loud enough to make him take a step back with a hand covering his heart as if he was about to have an attack.

" _Geez_ , you're scared me," he comments, his wide blue eyes dancing over her face with a hint of surprise.

"Sorry," she says with a brief shrug, stares him down anyway.

Not really.

He succinctly narrows his eyes at her, and when she thinks he may be about to say something, he just lowers himself to the ground where the book fell.

Uh, oh, that's her chance.

She bends her legs and falls on her heels, feigning not to have seen him do the exact same thing when she grabs the book. Except that he's taking the other end, and when she lifts her face, he's watching her with a quirked eyebrow. Is he challenging her? Because, he can't possibly be ready for that. Still, willing to play, she arches an eyebrow of her own and pulls it toward her chest, only to find resistance.

Damn him.

"This is mine." It's sharp, almost a growl that reverberates in her throat, and she doesn't care that it sounds harsh, totally doesn't notice how his pupils dilate at the sound.

He recovers fast, a smirk teasing his lips as he stands, taking her up with him. "Oh really? I believe I've had my eyes, and _hands_ on it first."

Her own fingers curl around the thick spine, eyes narrowing as she pinches her lips together, containing the rumbling fury that's roaming around in her chest. "Maybe. But you.." she pauses, tries to come up with something and goes with the first thing that crosses her mind. "Won't like it."

His grin spreads, eyes sparkling so annoyingly that she can't help but tug on the book once more. "I won't? Why's that?"

"I've..heard that it's bad," she tries, eyes narrowed into thin slits at her own poor choice of words.

Curiously, he shifts his weight, the smirk dropping instantly off his face. Uh.

"You did?" His voice is a tad lower, strained as if _concerned._ She can tell that it's totally working, can even feel him release his hold on the book.

Her lips quirk up on their own even as the smell of victory tickles her nose, but she schools her features fast enough, strives to sound convincing. "Oh yeah, really, you shouldn't waste your time."

His gaze hardens into something so cold that the blue hue seems to freeze, drawing an involuntary frown from her. "I see. Why do you want it so much, then?"

Right. Why, uh?

She shrugs. "Just wanted to see for myself, you know, how bad it actually was."

It's a terrible argument, and it would totally _not_ work on her, but he does seem on edge already, and if all he needs is a little push, then..

At that moment, his face closes completely, the light gone from his eyes and the lines of his face rigid. That's weird, and isn't what she was going for exactly, but..

He tugs so sharply and suddenly on the book that her fingers slip, a protest blooming on the tip of her tongue. "This book isn't for sale, sorry," he prompts flatly, laying it back on a display stand, "At least, _you_ won't waste your time. Good evening," he says at last before turning his back to her and walking over a small desk by the entry - leaving her standing there, blinking and confused.

Shit, that backfired seriously fast, even for her.

Something doesn't feel right, though, the way this guy changed his whole demeanor so fast doesn't make sense, at least she thinks so, and she absolutely didn't mean to offend him.

Just..intimidate him a little, _at worst._

She gives the book a last look before heading to the door, grabs her umbrella. "Hey," she calls before making her exit. He raises his head with an inquiring eyebrow, doesn't seem as angry - but rather..defeated. "I'm sorry if I've offended you in any way, I didn't mean to be rude. I didn't know you owned the place."

He shrugs at her with a small smile that doesn't quite feel genuine, "It's fine, but you should go before it gets bad out there."

She follows his lead and directs her gaze to the persisting rain and darkening sky. He may be right. But, first. She strides to his desk, lays a makeshift card with her phone number on the dark wood. "Here. Please, call me if you've got any more coming in?"

He eyes the flimsy piece of paper skeptically, and then her. "Will do, and you are?"

"Kate Beckett."

He nods quietly, wordlessly, but has the modesty to give her another polite smile before returning his eyes to his laptop. She sighs, taking an extra minute to give him a once-over, and although he does seem quite broody, she now notices how broad his shoulders are, how thick his arms under the thin sweater, how his eyes that had sparkled with pure mischief, are now casted by a dull shadow.

And she did this.

She turns her back before he can catch her looking, but even as she takes a step outside, she can already tell that he won't call.

Perhaps, she'll come by next week, find a way to apologize.

* * *

The moment the door closes behind her, Richard Rodgers Castle lets his face drop into his hands with a growl. The day had started off so well, bouncing on his bed with his already so grown up daughter, chest bubbling with joy. He'd drop her off at school, before coming here and had spent quite an uneventful day. He'd written a little, watered the plants, had rearranged a few shelves, and had just been quietly thinking back on the last few _crazy_ days when _she_ had shown up.

He hadn't heard her, or the chime that he's gotten so used to that he barely hears it now. She'd freaked the shit out of him out of nowhere, and nothing that happened next makes sense to him. She'd mistaken him for a client, which does happen a lot, and clearly thought he was about to get the book.

_That's mine._

He'd been surprised to say the least, at the steel in her voice. It hadn't been exactly rude or impolite - but protective, defensive even. Fierce in a way that had made his heart throb, because that's _his_ book. Writing anonymously is a choice he made, and while it has its benefits, he doesn't really get to know what people think. How they feel about his novels. How they experience them.

He'd wanted to play, see how far he could go, how far _she_ would go.

She'd looked at him with flames dancing in her eyes, wet strands of hair framing her face in an interesting contradiction. It'd made his fingers tingle.

She'd looked like she'd lived a thousand lives, but she's young. He could tell by the naked, unguarded defiance in her eyes, the incredibly smooth skin, but not only. She'd been brave and eager, had stood tall and strong - all too happy to take a challenge.

She's beautiful, too, even drenched and shooting daggers at him through her striking green eyes.

But she's unknowingly wrecked his heart - left him with a raw gaping wound right after making his chest bubble with hope. He'd thought she was genuinely interested, had never expected...that. He doesn't read the reviews, his mother does - at his great dismay. He doesn't need to know, he writes what he's passionate about, that's what matters most to him.

Still, it hurts. He's started a new series he's excited about, has done a tremendous amount of research on, and has enjoyed writing it from beginning to end - he'd had great hopes for it. And he thought they'd been met, the book had sold crazy fast, _everywhere._

So, why..?

He finds that the why doesn't matter much. He's bruised, feels like a tornado shattered the place.

_I've heard that it's bad_

What he doesn't get is why _her_ opinion matters so much. He knows what failure feels like, has learnt from it. Perhaps she's just awaken in him insecurities and fears that's been there ever since he started being published.

Growling, he pushes himself off his seat. Shuts the laptop down, and gives a sharp whistle. No need to dwell on that, he's got a daughter to get home to, who he knows will make today feel like a mere distant memory.

He hears the distinct clicking sound of nails on wood, sees the golden dog walk sluggishly and sit obediently on his haunches before him, his tongue peeking out to lick his chops. The quiet beast looks up at him with glassy eyes, his dark nostrils dilating as he smells the air and gives a defeated sigh.

"Yeah, you're right."

Castle pats the dog's head. "Let's go home, Buddy."

The dog gives him a low woof in response, nudges his hand as his eyes gain some more light.

Castle glances at the _card_ she left on his desk, eyeing the harmonious curves of her handwriting and shakes his head.

No one needs to read a bad book.

_Thoughts?_

**New story for Alex's #BookstoreAU ! Fair warning - it's a romance, and that's pretty much *all* it is. Should be in between 5 and 6 chapters.**


	2. Chapter 2

The sky is heavily clouded over, a thick gray foam that swells and spreads across the horizon, hiding the skyscrapers' tops. It's depressing, but at least, it's not raining - yet. The wind is bitter, viciously cutting through the layers and he shivers, tugs on Buddy's leash to get him to move. He lifts his head to the sky, groaning as he shoves his free hand inside his coat pocket. He can tell snow is only a few days away, and he's _not_ excited about it. Although, snow means that December isn't far ahead and _that's_ exciting.

Once he reaches the bookstore, he pushes the door open and unclasps the leash of the dog's collar. Getting rid of the thick coat and the scarf, he rubs his hands together in a poor attempt to warm them up. He hears the dog whine by his side, and it's only now that something catches his eye on his left. Fully turning to whatever it is that caught his attention, his heart lurches in his throat, his legs dragging him backward with a sharp step back.

" _Geez_!"

Buddy gives a sharp bark at his outburst, nuzzling his nose into the back of his knee.

He blinks when his eyes fall on _her,_ comfortably stretched out on the couch that's by the window, with a book on her lap. She sits and lays the book next to her, eyes the dog for a brief moment.

How did she-

"You- How did you?" His tongue is in a knot, won't form more than that, because she makes him nervous, and why is _she_ here.

She merely shrugs, a curve that tugs on the corner of her lips as she returns her eyes on him. "It was open," she lets out self-evidently.

Right. He just left the shop for a couple of minutes to walk the dog.

"I don't have your book." He prompts adamantly. "..If that's why you're here," he adds.

The skin at her cheek flexes, as if she's chewing on it, her eyes not quite on him - sweeping the room before settling on him with a look he doesn't expect. Regret. "Yeah, uh, about that-"

"Please, don't apologize. It really is okay," he says with a nod of his head. He's just a librarian after all, why would it _not_ be okay. "In fact, if you want to stay here and read the one I have on display - you can."

What he doesn't tell her is that he wants to see her read it, see how _bad_ it is by the look on her face.

A sharp light illuminates her eyes. "Are you sure?"

The hint in her voice is bordering excitement, and that does leave him at a loss. He's never seen anyone show such an enthusiasm at the prospect of reading a _bad_ book.

Kate Beckett is a strange woman.

A strange woman who's staring at him with sparkling eyes, and a shirt that's barely buttoned up to the plunge between her breasts - which he is _not_ looking at. He is trying, but the white fabric lures him in.

Taking a deep breath in, he focuses on her face and clears his throat. "I'll, uh, I'll be back."

* * *

She doesn't know how long she's been here on the couch, reading Richard Castle's new novel, it could be hours, or days - she can't tell. She's too far gone, too engrossed into the world of Derrick Storm to stop now, but somehow she's noticed. The guy she doesn't have a name for yet is across the room, at his desk and is currently feigning to be busy, typing away on his particularly loud keyboard. He's been glancing at her every now and then, she felt his eyes on her the moment she started to read.

It's a bit creepy, makes her skin crawl in both a good and a bad way.

Setting the book aside, she puts on the dark grey pullover she'd stripped off a moment ago when she'd felt too warm.

"So?"

She startles slightly, her eyes jumping to meet his gaze in response as her hands untug her hair, but stop midair "Uh?"

He sits back into his desk chair with a curl etched to his lips. An almost _smug_ curl. "As bad as you expected?"

Of course, he _watched_ her read. She's never been an inactive reader, she knows that she tends to live in the stories, rarely ever keeps a straight face - even less when reading Richard Castle's books.

He saw it all, didn't he?

 _Shit_ , heat blooms and rises to her neck and cheeks. She ducks her head for a moment, before facing him with a cringe. "Ah. Actually..I kind of lied."

His blue eyes widen, his eyebrows furrowed as confusion takes over. "You- you lied. Why?"

Because she's an idiot.

"See, I thought you were gonna buy this book, and I had been looking for it all day," she explains as if that makes sense, as if that's a totally normal thing to do.

"Wait. So, you made that up?"

"Yep."

"All of it?"

"Yep."

"So, you don't actually think the book is bad?" He sounds surprised, disbelieving even, as though he's just found out he's been played - which..is the case.

Kate laughs. "No, I don't. In fact, it may be my new favorite."

His face relaxes, a genuine smile lightening up his whole face. "So, you like it?"

She momentarily frowns, but smiles. "Yes, it's really good." She's never doubted it, knew it would be nothing short of.

His own smile falls a little, but his eyes are warm and intent on her, a look that she doesn't understand. He looks...moved, almost thankful.

"You don't happen to know who really writes them, do you?" She asks to break the silence, her eyes narrowing suspiciously. Perhaps he knows him, perhaps that's why he's so touchy about it.

Her eyes widen as he chokes, and bounces out of his seat. The dog who's lying between them on the floor gives a short growling noise, probably startled.

The blue-eyed guy strokes the back of his neck, gives her a laugh that's clearly forced. "Uh, what? Of course not! No one does."

She shakes her head at the guy's antics, not truly convinced, but willing to let it go. "Right."

He mouthed something that looks like a _yeah_ , and moves at the front of his desk, leans against it.

He's staring at the dog, and she's staring at him.

Blatantly staring.

He really is handsome, older than her for sure, and she shouldn't be thinking this way, she isn't. She's got eyes, and she can say it: he's hot.

He's got a black pullover on that's incredibly tight around his biceps, makes his eyes pop and sparkle.

She's not in the right place, but if she was...or perhaps they could just-

Ugh, _no._

She can already feel her pulse break into a wild gallop, the rush of arousal that slashes through her and that's entirely too wrong.

She doesn't do _that_ anymore.

She needs to distract herself.

"Who's that?" She asks with a tilt of her head toward the dog, even though the guy can't see her.

The dog, the dog is safe.

He lifts his head, foggy eyes that clears up when they reach her face. "Oh, that's buddy," he offers with bright eyes and a pleased smile.

The dog's brows shift upon hearing his name, but his face remains rested on his paws, eyes blinking leisurely. It's a pretty dog, a golden retriever mix, if she'd have to guess. He's got a shiny golden coat, although the hair around his eyes and nose are grey. That tells her he's not all that young anymore. He has kind eyes, a kind of drooping gaze that makes him look sad, but trustworthy.

He seems loyal, she understands why.

"Buddy?" She asks around a laugh.

He gives her a laugh of his own, lightly shakes his head as he lowers his gaze back on the dog. His eyes are softly running over the quiet beast, and she can tell how much he loves his dog just by the way he looks at him. "Yeah, he's a stray dog - was. I found him on the doorstep one morning, in quite a rough shape, too. Took him in." He shrugs.

He is hot, but sweet, too.

Butterflies storms her stomach, as her smile widens before she can have a say. "That's really kind."

He nods, gives her a look. "He's no trouble, really. He loves it here."

"I can see why," she bluntly lets out. She doesn't mean to hold his gaze for so long as she says this, doesn't mean for those words to mean more than what they separately stand for, but as their eyes lock - she finds that she doesn't care.

He snaps out of the daze first. "By the way. I'm Richard Rodgers."

At last, she's got a name.


	3. Chapter 3

He hears it this time, the cheerful tone of the chime and it may or may not be because of  _ who _ triggered it. It’s a mere supposition, a possibility. He absolutely has not been waiting for the weekend to kick off just to see if she’d be back. He definitely has not spent the week gazing at the couch across from his desk, wondering if she would come back and claim it again as if it had always been hers. He’s happy she did, his bookstore is too quiet, too lonely and while he used to be okay with that, he likes it best when she’s here now - unless she’s here to tell him his work is bad. 

 

Though, he’s just barely recovered from her little stunt. She’d played him, just because she’d wanted  _ his _ book. And boy had he fallen for it. He should have figured it out, he’d watched her read it for almost two hours, one hundred and twenty painful minutes. He’d never watched anyone read his work, and he knows why now. It’s torture. Yet, he had found himself unable to tear his eyes away from her, not when her lips had mouthed each and every word, not when her eyes had hungrily ran over the pages, not when that adorable line between her eyes had creased with a frown nor when her lips had spread into small smiles that she had to contain by biting into her finger. 

 

It’s all printed into his brain, because that had  _ not  _ been the reaction of someone reading a bad book. Quite the contrary. 

 

She’d  _ loved  _ it, and he had loved seeing the display of emotions on her face. Emotions  _ he  _ had put there, though she didn’t need to know that. 

 

Buddy barks once, the kind he gives when he’s happily surprised, and before Castle can call his name, he’s barrelling into Kate’s legs who laughs and greets the beast with a scratch behind his ear and a voice that seems to mesmerize both the dog and the man. It’s the delighted tone of her voice that so easily arouses a herd of swarming butterflies in his stomach, his eyes staring at her as she talks to the dog.

 

“Hi, buddy! Happy to see you, too.”

 

His chest rumbles with a low laugh as she squats down and rubs the dog’s wild coat, only to get rewarded with vigorous licks, his tail wagging in all sides.

 

She groans, pushing the dog’s head away gently before standing up. “Is he always like that?”

 

No. “It happens. Though, he did take a liking to you,” Castle says around a short laugh. “In fact, I’m fairly sure he’s missed you.” As in  _ he,  _ the dog. Not him. 

 

She hums, looks at him with warm eyes that makes him swallow hard, the silent conversation making him wonder if she caught the hidden meaning. 

 

“Need anything?” he asks when she doesn’t say anything - just stands there before him. 

 

Her eyes widen slightly, her lips parting as if she’s surprised by the question, as if she herself isn’t quite sure why she’s here. “Oh, uh, no. Just wanted to get some air and walk, ended up..here.” 

 

“Oh.”

 

He knows that’s not likely. The streets of the city are covered by a thick layer of snow, the air frigid, and the snowflakes still falling in earnest. No one wants to  _ get some air and walk _ in this weather. But he’s willing to let it go if it means he gets to have her here. Perhaps she just wants to resume her reading.

 

He’s about to ask her when she beats him to it. “What’s up there?” she asks with a nod toward the small wooden stairs, her eyes following the glowing fairy lights snaking around and along the dark wood.

 

“More books, of course,” he says as he stands and raises his eyebrows. “And a very expensive espresso machine. Coffee?” 

 

He’s never seen such a bright smile. 

 

“Please.”

 

* * *

 

Kate Beckett isn’t a stranger to bookstores and libraries. She’s always had a fierce and deep love for books ever since she was a child, and she had visited her fair share of them. She’d seen huge, very modern libraries; generally quite packed, with huge glass windows, a lot of space and light, quite impersonal. She’d been to smaller, more rustic ones, too. But this one quickly found a special place in her heart. It’s smaller than she’s ever seen and yet has a collection of classics and modern books that’s quite impressive. Even though it’s mostly empty, she feels at home. 

 

It has everything to do with the warm wood, and the dim light. The low ceiling and the stony walls. The strong smell of old books, and the sparse plant life. Nothing to do at all with the blue-eyed and brown haired librarian and his dog. 

 

So yeah, she lied - again. She hasn’t ended up here by chance, but it is true that she’s come here to get some air, just a different kind of air. Each friday, she leaves the academy to come back to a home that’s not hers anymore. Each friday, she has to make sure her father is still breathing, if he’s home at all. Her weeks are tough, even if challenging in a good way, and sometimes she just wants to go  _ home.  _

 

Somehow along the way, this became a place where she can unwind, and be herself for a little while, without the weight of responsibilities that shouldn’t be hers smothering her. 

 

“To be honest, I bought it on a whim. Hardly use it, though I do make wicked lattes,” he says with a quirked eyebrow and a complacent smile. 

 

She blinks slowly, watches as he pushes buttons and the coffee machine rumbles and whirs to life. It does look brand new, a fancy one that stands out in the otherwise simple room. The ceiling is high, the floor large; mostly holds a few shelves that are half empty, it’s obvious that he doesn’t use it. 

 

It gets her wondering. He’s older than her, but not that much, and she can’t tell why he’s here. Clearly not for business, since she’d rarely seen anyone in the time she’d been here. Something just isn’t right, and although she doesn’t mean to, the question rushes past her lips.

 

“Why are you here?” she blurts out, the blunt question owing her a wide, confused look as his hands freeze. She shakes her head at her own lack of tact, tries to rephrase it. “Ah, I mean, why this place?”

 

Why a tiny library that’s barely visible from the outside? What’s in it for him? Something tells her he’s got money; he’s well dressed, not quite ready-wear brands, but she can tell it’s not in the cheap range either. Anyhow, he doesn’t strike her like someone who’s living off a small, unpopular bookstore. Although, she has only been here during weekends, perhaps he’s got more than one string to his bow.

 

He leans against the small counter, considers her words. “Well, this is where I wro-” 

 

She arches an eyebrow when he doesn’t finish, waits for him to elaborate, but he only stares at her with wide, slightly panicked eyes, the lines of his face strained as if frozen. 

 

She frowns at the weird expression on his face, “Yes?” she prompts. 

 

He blinks once, twice before giving her a crooked smile.

 

“I meant, I used to come here a lot, and the previous owner wanted to sell, or tear it down altogether, because as you can see, it’s not exactly crowding with people here. I didn’t want to see it go, so I bought it,” he says easily with a shrug as if it’s no big deal.

 

None at all.

 

“You  _ bought  _ it?” The incredulous note in her voice is unintentional, so is the tilt of her head as her eyebrow shoots up to her hairline, but she finds that hard to believe, can’t help the surprise that’s undoubtedly written all over her face.

 

His lips part, looking for words, face scrunched up in confusion, as if  _ he  _ doesn’t get why she’s surprised at all. “..Yeah, why?”

 

Her face clears as she shrugs, attempts to play it cool, even if a small smile tugs at the corner of her lips “Nothing.”

 

He’s hiding or withholding something from her, and whatever that is, she’ll figure it out - eventually.

 

She hoists herself on the bar stool as he returns to his machine.

 

“So, how do you take your coffee?” 

 

“Depends, what can you make?” She challenges gently, her chin in her hand. 

 

She doesn’t miss the spark that flares in his eyes as he bows forward and rests his elbow against the bar to mimic her position. Their faces are inches apart, the clear blue of his eyes is all she can stare at.

 

“Oh, Kate,” he says so slowly, her name so smooth that she shivers. “You’d be surprised.” She blinks leisurely, her mind fogging up as his eyes bore into her. It’s wrong, she can hear the faint alarm that blares somewhere, warning her, but she can’t bring herself to care right at this moment. Not when his gaze is so soft and warm, not when he’s slowly moving closer and-

 

He’s gone.

 

“Just shoot!” he proclaims as he jumps upward, his hand already reaching for a mug, while she frowns and ducks her head for a moment, her teeth nagging her lower lip as she tries to collect her thoughts.

 

She doesn’t know what that was, doesn’t know how to feel about it either, but still lifts her head and gives him a smile. 

 

They just get along well, that’s all - at least that’s what she tells herself.

 

“Alright, then. Grande skim latte, two pumps sugar-free vanilla. That’s my usual order.”

 

And at the smile that blooms on his face, she knows that’s what she’ll have. The thought alone warms her chest, her body already craving the strong caffeine, her taste buds tingling at the prospect of the sweet vanilla.

 

“Ah, very specific. Luckily, I have all flavours here stored...just because” he says as he bends under the bar, looking for what he needs, it seems.

 

Kate whirls around on her stool, lets her eyes scan the room; it’s a nice room, but she knows  _ how _ it could be even more so. 

 

“You’ve got some place uphere, why don’t you turn it into a coffee shop?” she asks, eyes sweeping the room as she tries to picture it. She can see the dispositions of the table, the touch of vegetation here and there, people reading comfortably with a warm coffee. 

 

“Uh. I don’t know. I’ve never really thought about it. You think that’d work?”

 

When she whirls back to face him, he’s already working at her latte; his gestures are easy and smooth, almost mechanical, as if he’s done that all his life. Though, he’s focused on the task, and her question brings a slight crease between his eyebrows.

 

“Why not try? I’m sure it’ll make the place seem more attractive.” 

 

Rick lifts his eyes to her, a little tentative smile drawing his mouth in a slight curve. There’s something in his eyes she doesn’t quite get, but he seems to appreciate the offer. 

 

They remain silent for a moment as he finishes the last touches, pours the milk with care. She can’t help but smile at the dedication he puts into such a mundane task. Once done, he lays her mug before her, throws the towel on his shoulder as he crosses his arms. 

 

“So, Kate Beckett. Obviously, you know what I do. But what do  _ you  _ do? College?”

 

She ducks her head at the question, didn’t expect it although she should have. Her eyes catche the airy and neat drawing in her mug, her lips splitting into a smile. The guy definitely knows how to make a very decent latte, and she can’t blame her heart when it speeds up at the sight.

 

“Ah, no. I dropped out, actually. I’m at the Police Academy, graduating soon in fact,” she answers lifting her head to see him watching her with a deep concern that’s quickly replaced by a bright,  _ eager _ thrill. 

 

“Really? That’s  _ awesome!” _

 

She shrugs. She wouldn’t quite put it that way, nothing about  _ why _ she is where she is is  _ awesome.  _ But he doesn’t need to know that, so she makes a quick work of shutting out the pain stirring in the pit of her stomach and brings the rim of the mug to her lips for her first sip. 

 

“What are you aiming for, then? Robbery? No I know!  _ Vice. _ ”

 

A small laugh escapes her, amused at the silly excitement that bursts from his eyes. Of course he would see her there. He sounds like a kid on christmas morning, and she doesn’t know how to respond to that. She’s never really talked to anyone about it yet, except her dad, but this is not the kind of reaction she expects to face. Thankfully, the strong but sweet sip quells her unease, washes it all away, and she can’t help the muffled moan that breaks free. 

 

Her eyes close for a split second, and when she open them again, he’s watching her intently - a little dumbly.

 

Perhaps she moaned louder than she thought.

 

Warmth rushes up to her cheek, her teeth sinking into her lip as she averts her eyes. “I, uh, no. Homicide.”

 

“Really?” He seems confused now, looking at her his face slightly tilted on the side, eyes jumping between her eyes as if he’s trying to figure her out.

 

She nods quietly, unsure what his confusion stands for. 

 

“Détective Beckett - Homicide. It does have a nice ring to it,” he says with a kind smile, his eyes searching her as her own widen. 

 

She is surprised, no one has ever quite reacted that way - even her own colleagues had rolled their eyes at her, and had given her a sneer when she’d told them. Rick only looks at her, a glint of admiration softening the bright blue; he looks impressed, if not proud, and she doesn’t know how to handle it.

 

“If you say so,” she drags out with slight sarcasm, just merely hiding her disbelief. 

 

“But tell me..” he says more seriously.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Will you let me follow you around?”

 

She can only roll her eyes, and take another sip. 


	4. Chapter 4

Throughout the month of December, she comes by every Saturday, wearing a gorgeous coat and her prettiest smile. She finishes his book in a matter of hours on _her_ couch by the window while he's at his desk across from her, writing what he hopes she would read with the same fervor and dedication. They spend quite a lot of time upstairs, making plans for the _coffee shop_ , sharp minds working as one. Quickly, they settle into an easy and effortless friendship. He says friendship, because he doesn't know exactly what they have; they get closer with each passing week, a morning wave quickly turns into holding hands or looks that last too long to be considered _friendly -_ hands brush, and lips find each other's cheeks on multiple occasions. So, no, he doesn't know what they are, what he knows is that he actually witnessed the darkness that usually loomed in the back of her eyes fade away the minute her feet stepped inside his bookshop. He hasn't asked, didn't want to push too hard and jeopardize what they had.

Perhaps he should have.

It's been four months now...

Four months since he's last seen her bright smile and fierce eyes, four months that her laugh hasn't rung and echoed through the silent shop, too many months since he's last seen her roll her eyes at him, and yet hide a smile behind her hand or with a puckered mouth. He remembers that day she had cast him downstairs when he wouldn't stop messing with _her_ plans. She had _pushed_ him downstairs with a firm finger on his back, pinning him with a stern look until he was sitting at his desk - pouting. He thought she loved it there, he had found in her a partner along the way, and now he feels betrayed. Four months have gone by and not a single text, or call. Four months he's spent staring at the door on Saturday mornings, or waiting for that chime he'd started to associate with her to ring. Buddy, too, had to learn the hard way that she wouldn't be coming back any time soon. The quiet dog had waited by the door every Saturday for hours, either lying down on his belly, muzzle rested on his paws or sat on his haunches, looking expectantly at the door - whining when she never came. Eventually, he stopped waiting for her when a few weeks turned to months, but Castle didn't.

He decides not to open today, and while the sun is bright and warm outside, he hasn't left the loft once. He misses her, the coffee shop will soon be ready now that only the new facade is missing and she is not here. It feels wrong. It was her idea, mostly her plans and a stubborn part of him refuses to launch it without her. She had told him that he should do something special for the opening, a little stand outside with free cookies or pastries, have the dog wear a red bowtie - something joyful and welcoming like him, she'd said.

He doesn't feel _joyful_ , doesn't want to have to fake it.

"Dad! Buddy ate _all_ the grass."

The whiny voice of his daughter chases the vicious thoughts away as she bursts past the door of his office, the dog in tow.

"Did he, now?" He shakes his head at the dog with a small smile as he spots the dog's very green muzzle, his equally green tongue hanging out and dangling on the side as he breathes hard. He does look pretty proud of himself.

" _Yes_. I told him not to, but he doesn't listen!" Alexis unclasps the leash with a scowl only she can muster, tearing another short laugh out of him. "That can't possibly be good," she adds looking at him, alarmed.

"I'm sure he'll be good, sweetheart." The dog has always had a thing for grass, whenever he's near any, he just has to throw himself in and tear it up.

"Did you stay here? You should go take a walk." He hears the judgement in her voice, but shrugs anyway. He's good here, he's got everything he needs; food, entertainment, a blank page staring at him.

"I don't feel like it." He shrugs, though the girl sees right through him. Her eyes narrowing suspiciously, she clicks her tongue disapprovingly.

"Is it because of _Kate_?"

His eyes widen the moment the name reaches his ears, and he doesn't know whether it's because she remembers or because it _hurts_ him to hear her name. When has his child become so perceptive? "Ah, no, why?" He feigns not to know what she is talking about, but she is arching an eyebrow at him and crossing her arms over her chest. For an 8 year old, she's pretty damn intuitive.

"Oh I don't know, Dad. Perhaps because you've been sulking for the past few _months_."

"I have _not_ " He exclaims in a very real outrage, sits straight in his desk chair and huffs. He has not been _sulking_. It's true that he's been at the loft more than usual, cutting the open hours of the shop to pace around the loft instead. He's been...thinking, that's all.

About sending her _the_ book, _signed._ A reminder.

Something that would make her come back.

"If you say so. Why don't you call her, then?" She's frowning now, a little crease between her eyebrows that shows just how much his situation is beyond her understanding. She's too young to know what's going on in his head, and he's very glad about that.

"Why doesn't _she_ call me?" It's petty and pitiful all at once, and while he's a bit ashamed of showing that to his daughter, he can't quite control it. It's his heart that he feels straining to pulse harder, but unable to do so, it's his chest that every day feels tighter without her.

She's not impressed, though, and rolls her eyes at him with a "Really, dad?"

He averts his eyes, watches his cursor blink thoughtfully. "She's the one who deserted me, why should I call?"

"Because you miss her," his daughter states. It's hopeful and innocent, sounds so easy from a child's mouth.

Yet, he feels it weigh on his chest, boughs interlacing and weaving a shield around his heart although it's too late.

"Yeah, well, that's not enough," he says mournfully, giving her a small smile as she considers him.

She seems to be thinking deeply, narrows her eyes and shuts her face in that way she does when she's trying to solve a problem. But suddenly, she sighs very dramatically. "You adults are way overdramatic"

He huffs, mumbling. "Am not"

She drops in the chair across from him, gives him a bemused look. "Have you even thought about the possibility that maybe she couldn't?"

Why couldn't she? Wh- oh.

Something snaps into him at that moment, suppressed anger and frustration leaving place to dread, and _panic._ He's on his feet before he can say a word, his spine stiff under the tension that's seizing him.

"Do you think something happened?!" His heart is pounding now, hard against the wall of his chest as the braided twigs recoil, his heart exposed.

Her head jerks up from where she was looking at the dog lying at her feet, doing a double take. "What? Dad, that's not what I said. I'm sure she's fine."

"But what if she isn't?" he counters, his throat going dry, pulse racing.

She's at the police academy - so many things could go _wrong._ What if she fell off a climbing wall? What if some brute hit her too hard? What if someone's gun went off-

"Dad, please, calm down."

His mind is reeling, millions of outcomes playing out before his eyes, each and everyone of them terrifying.

He has to know.

"I'm gonna call her." His fingers quickly find her, punching the button call with a sharp jab before bringing it to his ear.

The blippings are daunting, never ending, everlasting. The even tone sets his nerves on fire, his pulse so strong he can feel it drum inside his ears.

He hates it.

"Daaaad-"

He shakes his head. "No, no. You're right, I should have called her, I'm an _idiot._ "

She rolls her eyes, but waits with him.

"So?"

"Nothing," he mutters.

Whatever adrenaline had been pumping through his veins drastically drops, along with his stomach.

Alexis gives him a small smile he doesn't find the strength to return, and walks up to him, hugging his side. "Okay, dad, come on. Let's have lunch out."

* * *

The opening day is a success; Alexis is outside wooing every single passerby with her smile and a basket of pastries she baked herself, the bookstore is full - more than he's ever seen it - the orders keep on coming, keeping him busy.

Busy enough to forget that something, _someone_ is missing.

"Here for you, thank you for coming!"

The flow seems to slow down now, although the place is full, everyone is quietly chatting and looking around. He likes it, loves the background noise that's no longer a deafening silence. Now that everyone seems to have received their order, he begins cleaning the coffee machine, putting away empty card boxes when he sees someone entering out of the corner of his eye.

"Hi! I'll be with you in a sec, what will it be?" he mumbles from under the bar as he fumbles with the dozen syrup bottles stocked here.

"A grande skim latte, two pumps sugar-free vanilla."

His hand instantly freezes around the bottle, everything inside him rousing in a rush of contradictory emotions the moment he hears _her_ voice.

He would know her voice anywhere.

She came back.

He's purposely hiding at this point, he knows he is, but he doesn't know what to do, or say. The too proud and bruised part of him wants to spring up and yell at her for leaving him, but that softer side of him that _she_ brings out just wants to hug her and never let go, bury his nose into her cherry blossom-scented hair.

He does neither.

Instead, he takes a deep breath and stands, starts the coffee machine without a single look in her direction. He wants to; see if her hair grew out, or if she cut it, what she's wearing now that it is warmer, the look in her eyes. But the ball in his throat is too heavy, and his chest too tight and he's- he resents her.

"You've got yourself a real charmer. No wonder this place is full."

Her voice is soft, careful even.

Starting the creamer, he nods. "Yeah, uh, that's my daughter."

"Mm, she's beautiful," she says laying a hand on the counter. "Looks like it's going well."

It is, and _she_ did this.

He gently pours the cream in, shuts his thoughts away for the moment, because if he's a little mad, he can't help wanting to see that smile she gives him when he draws random patterns in her latte.

He missed it.

"Tell me about it, I never thought it would be so much work" he says around a short huff, laying the steaming mug before her, eyes meeting at last.

They stare at each other, searching for answers or forgiveness.

"Hey, uh. Do you think we could talk, somewhere?"

He blinks, taking a closer look at her as she bites into her lip, her eyes hard and almost _imploring_ , but shy - a hint of insecurity hiding in the green.

She's just as beautiful as he remembers; her hair is a bit longer, though not by much and lighter, too. The royal blue top makes her eyes look so green in the dim light, he can't help but stare again.

Talk - they probably should.

"Can you wait? I've got my hands full here, I just need another ten-"

"No, no, of course. I'll wait, don't worry about me."

He nods shortly, giving her a small smile because _she_ 'll wait.

She looks into her mug, and cradles it into her hands. "Thanks," she says with a shy smile that she traps between her lips as she walks away.

Because this time, he drew her a heart.

* * *

She feels his eyes on her from the stairs.

He seems to pause, though, doesn't move as if he would trip if he took another step, doesn't say anything either. He's been quiet and distant ever since she showed up, and while she can't say that she's surprised - still - it throws her off. She doesn't know how to talk to him, remembers the quiet but devastating anger in his eyes the day they had first met when she had mistaken him for someone else _and_ lied. It's not exactly the same, he's not pushing her away.

This time, he's the one distancing himself.

She didn't think her being gone would change so much. Didn't think he would _care_ so much. But he does, and he's hurt, she saw- _sees_ that.

Seems like apologizing to him is all she knows how to do - now that the damage has been done.

Even the damn dog hasn't come near her, yet. He saw her, heard her call him, but hasn't done so much but throw her pitiful looks as if to say, _you abandoned me._

Surprisingly, that hurts, too.

When Rick finally gets to her, she sits and watches him shift and look around as if he doesn't know what to do. He's never seemed so uncomfortable around her, and her heart climbs in her throat. Still, she tries a smile and pats the cushion next to her in invitation. His eyes widen ever so slightly with surprise as he seems to weigh his options. At this point, she expects him to stay right where he is, but _he_ surprises her and comes closer, sits next to her at a reasonable distance.

He still won't really look at her, his eyes on his daughter and dog playing outside.

She still has this small floating heart-shaped cloud in mind.

"I'm sorry I disappeared on you," she says her eyes on the side of his face. She really is sorry. She missed him, missed the feelings he so easily ignites in her. She hadn't wanted to stay away, had almost ran back to him many times, when she needed his voice in her ear, his hand on her back. "I know I told you I would help you here, but something came up." He doesn't shift, holds himself still and stiff.

She owes him an explanation. "My dad, I had to send him to rehab," she croaks, staring at her thighs as she thinks back on the last few months. It had probably been the hardest few months she's had since her mother's death, and while she'd rather not talk about it - she knows he needs it.

His fingers twitch at her admission, his face angles slightly toward her - he's listening.

"It was a tough decision, but I had to." She can hear the tremor in her voice, and by the way his pinky curls and brushes her thigh, he does, too. It's a small gesture, but it's everything she didn't know she needed. "All this time, I was taking care of him, but I realized it was not enough." She has no control over the moisture that pools in her eyes, can only blink to keep them at bay, and when she looks up, he's watching her with serious, _pained_ eyes. They stroke her face slowly, and while he remains silent, his hand searches for hers and holds it firmly - anchoring her.

He doesn't say anything, but he doesn't need to.

The corner of her lips lift in a small curve as she stares at him. "But that's not all." Her smile widens when his eyes focus on hers, his smile mirroring hers in a way she doesn't think he's aware of. "I'll graduate from the Academy next month, and I've already been assigned to the NYPD."

His lips stretch into a wide smile, blue eyes sparkling in a firework. "Really? Kate, I-" He doesn't finish just yet, just stares at her in wonder while one of his hands rise and a finger touches her jaw. It's not a caress, barely a touch at all as if he doesn't exactly know what to do, as if he just needs to _touch her_ , and her heart jumps. "That's amazing."

_I'm proud of you._

He doesn't say it, but she can read it all in his eyes.

She nods eagerly, his excitement fueling her own. "Will you…" His eyebrows arch up as she bites into her lip. "Will you come?"

She didn't ask anyone else. Hell, there's no one she wants there more than _him._ Her dad hates that she chose the police academy, and would be in no condition anyway, but Rick. She knows he'd be there, sitting in his assigned seat and looking at her with sparkling blue eyes and a wide smile. Would probably clap too loud, and embarrass her, too.

"Where?"

"My graduation?" She doesn't mean for it to sound like a question, but she doesn't know where they stand now. He still hasn't said much, had barely moved at all, and perhaps he wants nothing to do with-

Her train of thought is halted by a hand cupping her shoulder as he draws her into his side. She stiffens unintentionally, but his smell quickly relaxes her muscles, makes her heart race as his chin dips into her hair. She can almost feel him smile. "Of course I will. Tell you what, why don't you come have dinner with us at the loft tonight? We'll have an early celebration."

He pushes her back just so he can see her face as she gapes at him, wonders if she just made it all up, or if he really invited her over to his place. She prays her heart to stop pounding so hard, and for her head to stop turning it into something it is _not._

They're just friends. 'Celebrate', he said.

"Sure." It's out before she can think about it, because if she does, she knows she will freak. She already deserted him for months, the least she can do is have dinner with him.

"Oh, and," she says taking his book in her hands, "Thank you for sending me this." She received it two months ago, at the Academy, and while she didn't really like receiving mail there, it'd been worth every suspicious look.

It's _signed._

With a strangely personal note, which leads her to ask. "So, you do know him."

The curve on his lips is almost cheeky, his eyes laughing and teasing all at once. "I'll tell you all you need to know tonight."

And just like that, she knows they'll be alright.


	5. Chapter 5

It had started in front of her wardrobe.

Kate Beckett had stared blankly at the piled up jeans and slacks, the shirts and tops, her blazers hung up next to her coats and jackets, and had found herself wondering what would make Rick's eyes sparkle. She'd felt ridiculous, standing in front of a mirror carefully putting together an outfit for a guy. It was totally not her, but she'd wanted to look good - wanted him to perhaps lose control just a little bit, a way to make up for the time they spent apart. Before vanishing, they'd been close friends, friends who sometimes held hands innocently, or kissed each other's cheek; while neither of them had ever overtly mentioned it, she'd known they were toeing a line, each of them too wary or too comfortable to cross it.

But they'd been there, and now, she wants that back.

She wants his eyes back on her, had planned her whole outfit with that in mind.

It seems to be working.

Sitting across from her at the table, he spends the entire time staring at her, feigning to listen to whatever conversation is going on. He's not even shy or discreet about it, he blatantly stares; his eyes either on her lips or somewhere on her face and it has her squirming in her seat. She ignores most of it, and wonders if he's aware of any of it, but it's not like she can say anything in front of his daughter and mother. Still, she's painfully aware of his burning gaze on her, feels it warming up her cheeks.

He had told her not to worry about the dress code since it would be a family dinner, but she'd just needed to find an outfit that said I'm relaxed, but secretly meant Please, look at me. Her shirts and slack had felt too formal, so she'd settled on those dark gray jeans she knew hugged her ass in an interesting way, and on that deep blue top he liked - topped it all with a light leather jacket and black heels. Once satisfied with her own reflection, she'd headed to her bathroom to deal with her hair and makeup, had rapidly curled her hair into loose waves, worked to make her eyes pop.

He's had his eyes on her since he opened the door to her, and while it's the exact effect she had been hoping for - something just isn't right.

She realizes now that he's staring at her, yes, but not looking at her, but rather through her as if he's not quite here. She notices the dusting of distraction that veils his eyes, and while he's been his usual charming self, he still remains quiet for most of dinner - and it is way too out of character of him for her to pass it off as fatigue.

It doesn't stop him from laughing at his daughter's tales, or rolling his eyes at his mother's stories about him - but she can see he's not consciously with them.

He's good at faking it, though.

She offers to help with the dishes while Alexis puts the leftovers away so she can talk to him alone. He refuses at first, giving her the 'you are the guest' speech, but she pins him with a glare he's sadly gotten used to, but still, he concedes with a heavy sigh of resignation: he cleans, she dries.

"What's up with you?" she asks after a moment as she wipes the first plate, sees him shrug out of the corner of her eye.

"Nothing, why?"

"Really, why?" She knocks her hip into him with a small smile that grows when he looks at her with innocent 'I don't know what you're talking about' eyes. "First, tonight is the least I've heard you talk, and second, you've been miles away," she points out with a quirked eyebrow.

Still, he doesn't relent.

"So?"

"So, what's on your mind?"

He shrugs again, averts his eyes to look at his soapy hands, though he doesn't get back to it - just stares at his hands as blankly as he had stared at her. He's quiet and closed off, and she wonders if perhaps tonight was not a good idea.

"Are we okay?" It's her time to flee his gaze as she dries a glass. It had been his idea and he had seemed pretty thrilled, but perhaps he's rethinking it now and-

"What?" he snaps whirling his head round toward her, genuinely offended. Is it really that crazy of a suggestion? "Yes, we are. I just-" He shakes his head in frustration, rubs his forearm under his nose. When she lifts her eyes, her eyebrows crease in confusion at the utter look of unrest on his face. His hair is wet as if he ran his hands through it, despite them being covered in soap. "Listen, I've got something to show you-" Her eyes widen just slightly, anticipation and dread surging up as one in her stomach, before dropping dramatically when his daughter's voice prevents him from finishing.

"Dad! Are we gonna play a game of monopoly before bed time? You promised." The lanky redhead whines, the dog sitting at her side howling in agreement.

Rick peers at her through narrowed eyes. "Did I?" he murmurs to her, frowning.

He really was out of it. Giving him a small smile, she nods, although her smile is strained and drops fast. It's stupid, but she can't help the feeling of rejection that hits her like a fist slamming into her stomach. She thought that his offer to have dinner with them meant he'd forgiven her, and yet he still holds himself at arms length.

The mixed signals are confusing and make her temples pulse. She feels like a river stands between them, keeping them separated, feels like her piece of land is about to collapse.

The worst is that it's all her fault.

"All right," he concedes, shutting off the tap and wiping his hands on her towel. "Let's do this, then." She steps ahead of him, but before she can get too far, he's gripping the sleeve of her top. "Later," he murmurs, looking at her with such serious eyes that she can hardly swallow.

His office is impressive, even more so than his bookstore. She finds very elusive echoes to it in the dark wood of the shelves that actually are the room's walls, in the very cozy atmosphere that reigns through the warm tones and the dim light.

Just like his bookstore, it suits him.

But again, the whole loft screams money - a lot of money and the pieces just don't fit.

He told her to wait here while he's upstairs tucking Alexis in bed, and so she wanders around the room, her fingers skimming over the shelves as her eyes scan the spines. It gives her some time to let her mind drift away, a diversion both dangerous and insightful. From the little time she's been here, she can tell he's an amazing dad; his daughter is radiant and brilliant, looks at him so fondly that it'd rattled something inside her - longing. She always was a daddy's girl, and she misses being able to bond with her own, misses how safe she used to feel in his arms.

Now she feels sick.

Just when she's about to cast the thought away, she hears him step in. Curiously, her eyes settle upon a full collection of Richard Castle's books at the exact same time. uh.

"You're one dedicated fan," she teases around a smile as she spins on her heels to look at him with an eyebrow arched and quirked lips.

He's still got that far away, foggy look on his face, his hair is sticking up in all kind of directions - he looks quite unhinged. He stares at her, strokes the back of his neck. "Mmm, I guess now is as good a time as any."

Time for what?

She frowns instantly, watches him walk to his desk and sit. She swallows around a particularly rough breath as her pulse gains in intensity. If he's been so tense all evening, there has to be a reason, and judging by the look on his face, she doesn't know whether it's a good or a bad one.

Her fatalistic mind tells her it's nothing good.

She quietly sits across from him as he nudges a stack of sheets of paper toward her without a word. "What's...that?"

He lets himself fall into the backrest, face surprisingly devoid of any emotion. "That's ah- That's a manuscript," he offers quite matter-of-factly.

Her eyes roam over the first page, a curious sense of dread wringing her stomach into a knot. Although she doesn't understand why he's showing her this, something in his quiet stance makes her stomach turn upside down. The first page reads 'Unholy Storm', small pitch black letters on an otherwise blank sheet. Her eyes tentatively peer up at him where he's studying her, waiting for her to say something - to react in any way. "You- Are you-I don't-" her eyebrows align, the crease between them digging a deeper trench into her skin as she shakes her head and wets her lips, confusion scrambling any coherent thought she may have going on. "You do know him- Are you helping him with his novel? Can you even show me that?" It all tumbles out of her mouth in one single flow, leaving her own mind in disarray.

She can't make sense of anything he's trying to tell her. She hears him sigh and sees him retrieve a book from his drawer, scribbling something inside before pushing it toward her. Her eyes runs over the cover of Gathering Storm, and shoot up to look at him, silently asking for answers. He nods, giving her the green light and she turns to the author note her eyes steadily widening with each word she reads.

It's the same note, the same handwriting.

Her surroundings abruptly blurs, his words staring at her.

Earlier that day, the words had slipped out of his mouth with the ridiculous exhilaration to have her in his arms - so easily, so weightlessly. Yet, back home, he'd started to feel nauseous with anxiety, his stomach churning with fear and anticipation - only then realizing the promise he'd made to her. He'd never shared that with anyone else than his family, and while he knows he can trust her with his full identity, he can't tame or shut off the little voice that nags at him - telling him it's a mistake. The 'what if' scenarios swirl around in his mind tirelessly, until his nerves are ablaze and he's so jittery that he can't stand still. He's not scared that she'll post a tweet revealing who Richard Castle really is and where to find him, no, he's afraid she'll see him differently.

Afraid she'll feel betrayed.

Although she's never said anything to his face, he knows the books mean more for her than she lets on, and he's afraid it'll break any expectation she has of the mysterious writer. Finding out it's just...Him, Rick, owner of a small bookstore-slash-coffee shop, single father of a nine-year-old. He knows how the saying goes, 'never try to meet your heroes' unless you want whatever illusion you conjured up in your head to vanish and crumble away.

It haunts him, follows him all day long; he almost burns the spaghetti sauce, nearly chops one of his fingers off, walks on the dog's tail twice, snaps at his daughter more times than she deserved it.

He's never been such a mess.

He's all jittery nerves and boiling tension, and he knows not even the sight of her can possibly subdue the roaring four-headed monster that's growling and dangerously looming. Yet, the moment he opens the door and meets her eyes, takes in her casual and yet so sophisticated outfit, her glowing, happy face, it's something else entirely that hits him. It's the crystal clear epiphany that bursts before his eyes and through his synapses; he wants her to know who he is. Still, his mind and heart have often been estranged, and are now waging a war that is too loud for him to focus on anything else.

He spends the evening staring into space, can't fight the creeping anxiety that's taking over his bones and makes the back of his neck stiff, spreading from his spine to his limbs like an impending disease. He's aware of Kate peering at him with concern digging a line between her eyebrows and hardening the soft brown of her eyes into a cold green, but he can't snap out of it; he's frozen on the spot.

She confronts him in his kitchen, obviously having caught on his unusual behavior, asking for answers he can't give her. She tries to lighten the mood, swaying her side into him, her mouth into a small curve as she gently tries to get him to talk, until she suddenly recoils.

Are we okay?

It's not the words that knock the breath out of him and interrupt his conflicting thoughts. It's the soft and vulnerable tone in her voice, the way she averts her eyes and deflects, it's the pang of guilt that shocks his heart so painfully that he can only rise up against himself for putting her -them- into this situation.

The fight leaves him the moment he joins her in his study, because this is the point of no return, this is the moment everything can change - for better or for worse, and he can only face it. The moment her eyes examine the cover of Gathering Storm, flipping the page to his note, he sincerely thinks he may throw up right before her. He watches as her face goes from confusion to shock until at last, she shakes her head lightly with a smile first budding in the corners of her lips as they twitch, before blossoming into a full grown laugh that jolts his heart into awareness.

He blinks as he catches himself before he can go slack in his chair, every muscle turning to jelly, hands grabbing the edges of his desk as if to ground himself. "You're smiling…" he mutters, pushing through the paralyzing awe. To say he had not expected such a reaction is a wide understatement. "You're not mad?"

She tilts her head with a frown and a duh look, as if he's the one being irrational. "Why would I be?" she asks, mirth dancing in her golden eyes like lightning buds around a bulb. "I knew you were hiding something," she adds with a shrug.

Hiding-

"You knew?" He repeats in shock as goosebumps form along his neck and arms. He's spent the day trying to breathe through continuous panic attacks, ruined her evening and she knew?

His distress seems to trigger a response from her and she reaches across his desk in an attempt to grab his hand. "I didn't know, but I figured something was missing," she clarifies carefully.

"So, you're not mad?" he asks again, pulse racing.

She shakes her head, her lips drawn into a gentle, reassuring smile. "We all have our secrets." He cocks his head at the way her voice breaks slightly, a barely there waver that he would have missed if it wasn't her. "I respect that. I know who you are and I can tell this is a big deal for you."

His chest swells with relief, lungs expanding with a surge of air. Long gone is the tension that had him sedated, so is the wave of nausea that made place to overwhelming alleviation.

"It is," he nods letting his fingers creep up to rest on her own.

Nudging his fingers, she bites into her lip looking at him with cautious eyes. "But you're telling me."

He does. He did.

What does that mean?

"I like you." It escapes him before he knows it, the admission like a comforting balm and suddenly, he feels a lightness take over his body. He catches the surprise that flashes in her eyes, and braces himself. "I trust you." It comes deliberately this time, because that he always knew.

He holds his breath when she lowers her eyes to his desk, can almost see the gears spinning in her head. She nods almost to herself and lifts her head, takes a long breath in. "I do, too."

He doesn't know what she means, ignores whether she's returning his first or second - if not both- confessions, and finds that it doesn't matter.

He likes her…..and perhaps a little bit more than he's willing to admit.


	6. Chapter 6

The Police Academy graduation is held inside the Madison Square Garden Theatre. 

 

Richard Castle has been instructed to sit on seat 316, level 300 - apparently one reserved to a few selected guests. An hour before the beginning, the place is already quite crowded; all the officers-to-be are seated on level 200 excitedly chatting away and laughing together while the guests are being ushered to their seats. The room is filled with a steady muffled background noise and is still fully lit, it’s large, but he’s seen bigger venues. The rows of deep red seats are laid out in a semicircle around the stage that’s plunged into the dark for now, if not for small spots of lights embedded into the floor, casting a faint yellowish hue. It’s an environment he knows well; the musty smell tickling his nose and stirring warm memories of days spent behind the red curtains, or trying on stage costumes while his mother was on stage or rehearsing. Somehow, it contrives to appease his nerves, though his knee continues to jiggle nervously up and down - up and down.

 

He can’t possibly spot Kate from his seat, not when they all have their hats on, not when they all wear their ceremony uniforms. Yet, even now, his heart pounds with a surprising fervor, his chest buzzing with an anticipation that he feels crackling through his system like a live wire. He won’t lie, he feels slightly out of place; most guests here appear to be parents and grandparents, some are undoubtedly friends or relatives. At the same time, it fills his heart to know that of all people she could have asked, she picked  _ him,  _ because it mattered to her - though it saddens him, too. 

 

She deserves more than him, should have her father and mother clapping and shouting her name from the back, assuredly making her blush and duck her head. He knows her dad is currently indisposed, but what about her mom? He can’t remember her ever mentioning her, and while a cautious part of him can hear the distant warnings telling him it’s not a wise idea, and revealing the ominous red flags hoisted high, he makes a note to ask her. 

 

It quickly gets stuffy and he’s glad he decided at the last minute  _ not _ to put on a tie. Of course, Kate had told him the dress code was formal, but the tie had felt too much. Even now, the clammy heat that clings to his neck urges him to uncuff his sleeves and undo a few buttons of his shirt. It has absolutely nothing to do with his thundering pulse. None at all. He stands twice so that the newcomers can have access to their own seats, and once everyone seems settled, the light dies down and the theatre falls silent, except for a few whispers. 

 

First, they’re forced to listen to over an hour of lengthy speeches from the Mayor, the Police Chief, and more city delegates. Then, comes a police oath to which all the graduates raise their hand and pledge their loyalty to the badge. After another hour, each graduating officer is called on stage to receive their police badge and shake hands, it’s at that moment that most of the cheering and clapping happens. He claps along with the room, tries to contain his own impatience even as sparks flare through his fingers and all nerve endings.

 

He’s fairly sure the last time he was such a jittery mess was for Alexis’ birth. 

 

He’s watching attentively, eagerly awaiting her turn. Level 300 being relatively far from the stage, it’s actually pretty hard to tell whose turn it is, but he trusts that somehow, he’ll know. Unsurprisingly, more than half of the 600 graduates are males, so there’s at least that. 

 

His fear is quickly erased when she comes into his view. 

 

His heart warns him first, jerking so abruptly inside his chest that he almost jumps to his feet under the impulse, only he manages to grip his hand around the armrest instead. Her hat casts a shadow on most of her face, and yet he can tell from here that her lips are curved into this small shy smile as she nods and shakes the hands of her superiors. The moment they hand her her badge, he feels her eyes on him. He doubts that she can see him from the stage, knows for a fact that the upper level must be rather dark from where she’s standing. Still, she does seem to be staring right at him, so fiercely that he squirms due to the nonstop fluttering of butterflies inside his stomach. His own lips spread into a wide grin that stretches so high that it reaches his ears, and even as his chest loosens under the spell of blooming pride, he swallows past a particular rough breath. 

 

His eyes just  _ may _ be a little misty - with  _ very _ manly tears. 

 

“Katherine Houghton Beckett,” they announce before sending her back to her seat as the room bursts into applauses, her fingers waving at the crowd as she goes, and he can’t help turning to his neighbor with a silly grin plastered on his face. “She great, isn’t she?” It’s stupid, the elderly man on his right knows nothing about her, and yet nods with a kind, knowing smile that warms his heart. 

 

Because she is more than  _ great _ , she’s  _ extraordinary _ . 

 

* * *

 

If he thought he’d felt out of place before, now he wishes he could blend into the background, be a fly on the wall. Guests, newly police officers, and city delegates now fill the entrance hall, forming small groups here and there as they exchange pleasantries, and he’s - alone. It’s generally not a problem, but this time, his eyes are scanning the room expectantly, the creeping dread invading his nervous system with each second that passes and gives an extra kick to his already wildly thumping heart. The graduates are all here, receiving pats on the shoulders by friends, or being kissed and hugged by relatives, and while the room gives out light and hearty vibes that should carry him, he can’t find the will to embrace them - not when she’s still nowhere to be seen. He thought about distracting himself with the buffet, but he’s so queasy that the thought alone is enough to keep himself well away from it. He wanders around, channels his nervous energy into the simple task before he can combust, though he knows his steps are hasty. His breaths are shallow, have been ever since the beginning of the ceremony, and now that his chest is getting tight and heavy, he longs for some fresh  _ air. _

 

But he can’t-

 

“Hey! Will you look where you-” 

 

He freezes when his body crashes into someone, apologies budding on the tip of his tongue before crumbling past his lips like breadcrumbs when he lifts his head and catches sight of who he just barreled into.

 

His hands automatically reach out and close around each of her arms as her mouth goes slack and her eyes widen just slightly when they land on his face.

 

“Rick!” She glances at his hands, a smile quickly finding refuge on her lips when she looks up at him, eyes glimmering with surprise.

 

He’s still holding onto her as if expecting her to topple back, but something about holding her up eases his heart into an easy canter. Relief washes all anxiety away, the sweet waves of pride and  _ love _ appeasing his blazing nerves.

 

“I was looking for you,” he explains a little dumbly, “I just thought we’d meet - here.” They hadn’t talked about the reception, but he’d assumed it was part of the invitation. 

 

“Yes! Absolutely. I’m sorry it took so long - I shook more hands, talked some more with the new bosses-”

 

A small laugh tumbles past his lips at her eager justification, the way her eyes can’t seem to settle on anything as she rushes the words out in one single breath. “Kate, it’s okay.”

 

She cocks her head, looks at him under furrowed brows. “Is it really? You had quite the desperate gait, there, Rick.” She glances at his hands once again, meets his eyes with a hint of hurt hiding there, deep in the green. “Is it because I-”

 

Oh, he knows what she’s getting at, and his heart lurches up in his throat, words pushing past the barriers of his teeth to put a stop to it before she can even finish the thought. “ _ No _ ,” he growls low in his throat, his hands tightening their hold. “I told you to stop bringing that up.” 

 

She does this. Bring up the four months she was gone any time he freaks out  _ a little _ when she forgets to call or text back, and while it’s partly true - to hell if he’s gonna tell her that. 

 

He doesn’t  _ blame _ her, and nor should she just because of his own insecurities. 

 

He shakes his head, eases her into his arms when she’s about to open her mouth - but gasps instead. “Plus, now is not the time, Officer Beckett.” He lets his lips brush the soft skin of her ear, registers how her skin comes alive under his lips as a light shiver runs along her nape. “You did good, there.” 

 

She doesn’t respond, only curls her arms around his neck with a sigh that tickles his skin. “Thank you, couldn’t have done it without you.”

 

He gives a short laugh at that, at the absurd but sweet words. “There is nothing you couldn’t do by yourself, Kate Beckett.” 

 

She hums, the vibration of her throat against his skin making his blood sing, and echoing inside his own chest like in an empty cave. They remain here in each other’s arms for a minute or two, hearts beating as one and straining to meet, simply enjoying the quiet bubble that surrounds them. 

 

He pushes her back reluctantly, but only lets her go once he got to skim his lips over her cheekbone, laying a feather-light kiss there - just because she lets him. Although she ducks her head, he can see the shadow of a smile creeping its way across her rosy lips, the smear of red over her cheeks that his lips left behind. 

 

She’s still in her uniform, but her hair is different. It was in a neat bun at her nape, and though the bun is still here, the hat is gone and a few strands have come loose - flowing gracefully around her face in gentle waves. They’re distracting, beg to be tucked behind her ear, but since he thinks neither of them can handle the gesture, for now, he settles for curling his pinky around her own as they amble around. 

 

This thing between them - it’s fragile, incredibly delicate and yet so exhilarating. He ’s found that there needs to be a balance with her, a pace he needs to respect and pay attention to. He longs for more touch, has wondered what her lips would feel like under his mouth - the noises she’d make, and he has caught himself before the three little words could escape him so many times, but he knows he can’t push too far too soon. 

 

Certainly not here and now.

 

They stay around for a little more than half an hour, during which she embraces her former comrades and discusses with a handful of them while he stands on the side, watching her engage. He can’t tear his gaze away, not when her eyes are wide open and intent - showing such profound interest in whatever they’re talking about, nor when she still peers at him with a lopsided grin from time to time.

 

Not when he remembers that of all of the people outside his family circle - she’s the  _ only  _ one who knows who he is - and yet still gives him the same shy, but warm looks she always has. 

 

“Rick, hey,” she says, tugging on his sleeve with an amused quirk curling around her lips, “Wanna get out of here?”

 

He really doesn’t mean for his eager nods to be his only answer, but when she bursts into a bright laughter and bumps her head into his shoulder- his words get stuck anyway.

 

* * *

 

She tells him to wait in the living room while she changes into something more comfortable, and she can already tell it’s not one of her brightest ideas. She knows him, he’s gonna snoop around the surface available to him, put his nose where it doesn’t belong and assuredly find something to say once she’ll be back. 

 

He’s been so good to her tonight and for the past few weeks that she’ll let him have it. Her heart does flutters inside her chest at the thought, because he’s been looking at differently, lately; every look is like a caress - soft and warm, stroking her face with the kind of spark in his eyes that lights up his whole face. Sometimes, it’s more subtle, but more intense, mostly when he thinks she’s not paying attention. His hands, too, seem to have taken on a mind of their own; always reaching for her, fingers curling around her wrist, or knocking into her hand when they walk. 

 

As if he can’t quite resist the pull. 

 

She doesn’t question it, refuses to put words on it- for now.

 

Perhaps it’s part of the reasons why she doesn’t put much thought into her outfit this time and shrugs on a plain white t-shirt, slips into a pair of yoga pants before undoing the tight bun seating at her nape - freeing a tangled mane of wavy hair. Running a hand through her hair, she winces when they get caught into unyielding knots. 

 

Braid it is.

 

Twisting her hair into a quick braid, she pads her way back into the living room, eyes searching for the  _ writer _ . It’s still a bit of a shock. She’d surprised herself that evening, barely can believe that she reacted so...calmly. Though, that’s not completely true. Meeting your favorite author can be intimidating and hold its load of surprises - no matter how much you love someone’s work, you don’t get to see  _ who _ they really are. You only get to draw your own picture with the little information you find. However, she had never actually took the time and effort to imagine what he was like, she knows a bunch of his  _ fans _ is constantly speculating on social networks - wishing for some hot stud, (and she gotta admit they’re not that far from the truth) but she’d never let her mind -or anything else- go there. 

 

She’d been surprised that of all people she could have come across, it had been  _ him.  _ She’d been shocked when realizing that she was  _ friends _ with her favorite author, one who had helped her going through the worst, brutal years of her life. 

But now, she can only feel honored to be part of the so tight circle of people who  _ knows -  _ can only admire him for choosing the ordinary life of a bookstore owner over the exuberant life of a bestselling author. 

 

“Are you trying to picture me naked, Beckett? Because if so, all you need to do is ask.” 

 

She blinks as his voice slowly filters through her eardrums. “What?”

 

“You do know that you’ve been staring at me for about three solid minutes, right?” 

 

Has she? Possibly, she was so long gone into her own little introspective thoughts that she now only realizes she hasn’t moved as far as her bedroom door goes. “Did you just say something about being naked?” It’s an honest question, but he only barks a laugh and shakes his head at her, his eyes crackling with mischief. 

 

“Well, now I’m a little disappointed,” he snarks around a self-satisfied smirk as he turns his back to her and walks toward the couch, flops down onto it. 

 

Not willing to ask, she rolls her eyes and goes to start a pot of coffee - it’s nothing fancy, can’t possibly compete with his, but it’ll do. 

 

“Beckett, do you know you’re growing mold in your fridge? I mean, I’m all for pets- but really?” 

 

He  _ did  _ snoop around. 

 

She turns to him and glares, but he only grins. She lets out an annoyed huff, pointing a finger at him. “Keep your hands off my stuff, Castl-” the word dies down promptly, her eyes widening at her own choice of word. He looks equally fazed, though he recovers faster than she does and beams.

 

“Oh, is it gonna be  _ Castle,  _ now? No one calls me that,” he says with a genuine smile, his eyes sparkling with excitement as he stands - practically  _ bounces  _ up on his feet. 

 

She frowns, confused by how easily the words escaped her. “I- Ah- I don’t- You like it?” It’s a good name, has a nice ring to it and it  _ suits _ him - somehow. She likes the sharp ‘k’ and the softer ‘s’ sound - both rough and soft, just like him. 

 

“I do, though I wish it hadn’t slipped off your lips so easily. Can’t do that when we’re not alone, Kate,” he says stepping closer, regarding her with amusement dancing in his eyes like gleaming gems.

 

And-

 

“ _ Shit _ ,” She’s an idiot. She brings the palm of her hand into her eye socket and shifts away from him. “ I know- ugh I’m so-” 

 

“Kate, Kate? Stop,” he says, angling her back to him with his hands around her arms. “You’re okay. I trust you,” he confesses looking at her straight in the eyes, adding a tilt of his head in insistence.

 

He does, but should he really? She barely trusts herself most of the time. 

 

His soft gaze does the trick and her lips relax into a small smile that he returns as he brings his lips to her forehead - skimming his lips there for a second. She stiffens, her heart too big for her chest as it jerks abruptly inside the tight cove, her eyes drifting shut when he presses a kiss there. 

 

When she opens her eyes, wishing for  _ more _ , so much more- h

 

he’s gone.

 

“So, the NYPD. When do you start?”


	7. Chapter 7

By the time Richard Castle's done counting the day's receipts, low rumbles echo through the bookstore, sporadic flashes of light lighting up the first floor. He walks downstairs, dog in tow, and sits at his desk, glancing outside. The sky is charged, dark patches slowly spreading across the horizon, and it won't be long before it all explodes and stabs the roof. He's felt it coming, the air had been moist and clammy all day long, the air so heavy that the bookstore had been rather empty today. He can tell that soon a furious warm rain will lash out against the windows, leave a wet, stale smell in its wake and yet won't cool down the summer air.

Buddy is lying down on his belly by Castle's feet, his brows shifting from one side to the other and his ears twitching with each distant and growing rumble. He whines blinking lazily, but his nostrils flare and his eyes bounce around in unease. He's never like storms, often hides under the desk, or some place hidden until it dies down.

Castle nudges the stiff beast with one of his feet. "It's okay, bud. Just a storm." The dog doesn't exactly answer him, but the small moan he gives out lets him know he heard him anyway.

Surely enough, the rain pelts down suddenly and crashes against the window like sharp needles. As the sky darkens considerably along with the angry clouds and the upcoming nightfall, the bookstore falls dark and Buddy whines pitifully once again.

Okay, it does look kind of bleak in here, but since he's almost done, he doesn't deem it necessary to turn on the lights. Plus, he likes it; how the yellowish glow of the fairy lights cast gentle halos on the cold stone walls, how so much more comforting it feels - like the flames of a crackling fire that wraps around his bones and soothes his soul. There's also something about the sky splitting apart above his head into a hair-raising crack, and the wet sound of the pouring rain like a curtain around his ears that sends a faint chill creeping under his shirt, biting his skin.

Shuddering under the cold shiver that his musing roused, he shuts his laptop off and pushes himself up when the door bursts open, a strong gust of wind rushing and swirling into the room with a hiss. The chime rings, though the particular loud clap of thunder that follows deadens the jingling sound. His eyes shoot up just as the dog jumps on his paws and snarls at the grumbling shadow wrestling with an umbrella.

He's pretty sure he'd turned the sign to 'Closed', but by the way the figure drags itself inside, it's pretty clear they're not having a good day- or evening rather. "Hey, uh...need help?"

Wincing at the loud boom bouncing off the walls, he steps closer, trying to get a clearer look while Buddy stands his ground behind him, the hair on his back bristling. Castle clacks his tongue at the beast in reprimand, pins him with a pointed look. It's mostly for show, and he wouldn't hurt a fly, but he's quite defensive - protective.

" _Shit,"_ the agitated figure hisses, making his eyes widen just slightly. He _knows_ that voice, yet his brain can't quite register it. Instead, he stands there watching as the wind causes the rain to splutter on the floorboards.

"Fuck, Castle, are you just gonna stand here and _watch_?"

He springs forward the moment his brain connects two and two together, and oh- he's in trouble. He takes the wrecked umbrella from her (hadn't she thrown that thing away?) and chucks it carelessly on the floor. "I'll buy you a new one," he mumbles as he slams the door closed. When he turns to her, her back is as stiff as a board, her slim silhouette shivering. "Kate, you're drenched, what-"

"I don't _care,_ " she hisses pushing her poor excuse of a jacket off her shoulders, lets it drop to the floor in a puddle at her feet. Her hair falls down her back in wet tendrils dripping down her spine, seeps through the fabric of her shirt - no wonder she's cold. He sees her drop her face into her hands, shoulders curling inward, and his heart constricts hard inside his chest.

"O-kay," he says warily. She's all sizzling sparks and charged energy, and all he has to do is say _one_ word wrong and she'll explode before his eyes, rivaling with the roaring sky. No one wants that, he needs to proceed with caution. "What do you want me to do?"

Her hands drop to her sides, but her frame remains rigid. "Hand me a book I can _throw_ ," she growls before storming upstairs, her feet stomping on the wooden steps.

He blinks, trying to wrap his mind around what just happened, and glances at the dog who has watched the scene from behind, sat on his haunches, not alarmed at all. "You go first," Castle tells him with a directive tilt of his head. Buddy cocks his head, looking at him with dazed eyes. "She'll bite my head _off._ "

He hasn't had to deal with such a moody Beckett up until now, and while he's not _scared_ per se, he has no idea how to handle it - and he's positive there's a 70% chance he's gonna screw this up. "Okay, _fine_ , be like that," he huffs at the dog.

He takes a deep inhale of air, straightens his shoulders. Yes, she's angry - but it looked like it was only a way to hide her distress. Whatever happened, she came _here_ \- she needs him, and he'll take the punches if need be.

Just not too hard, he hopes.

* * *

A fierce line of goosebumps breaks along her nape when she reaches the first floor, what with the room being just under the roof, the slap of the rain is unforgiving - reminiscent of the outpouring of water that had bent her and forced her to harden her grip around the shaft of the umbrella.

She'd felt like a walking shell, a mere shadow in the chaotic backdrop, roaming the slippery streets aimlessly. She'd felt nothing at that moment but the stifling humid air suffocating her lungs and sticking her hair to her forehead, forming pearls of sweats between her breasts.

She'd stopped once in the middle of the sidewalk. She'd dropped her umbrella without much thought just to feel the rain on her face, feel it run down her neck. Just because she wouldn't let her own tears stream down her face and join the race down her chin. Perhaps to cleanse herself to some extent, purify herself of her demons. A strike of lightning had split the sky apart, and she'd felt it slash through her, almost had shattered, too. Instead, she'd faced the dark slate sky head-on, watching through blurred lashes as it lit up in its fury.

She'd felt that, too.

It had felt good, but now that all is quiet, she feels vulnerable - though not less furious.

She sits on the chestnut brown sofa at the far end of the room, folding her legs under her and wrapping her arms around her chest in an attempt to shield herself. It was dangerous to come here, she doesn't want him to see this, doesn't want to explain. She had gone home first, the words ringing in her ears and drawing her hands into fists, _Go home, Officer Beckett. Come back with a clear head,_ but it wouldn't stop - she couldn't make it _stop._ How much of a failure she was, how she'd foolishly almost lost her job - her only way to get the bastard who killed her _mom._

Breaking into the archives? What was she _thinking_ , she should consider herself lucky that she still has her badge.

Dropping her head backward, she blinks hard, forcing the stupid hot tears _away_. Her chest aches; heaves too hard - her breath is too ragged, her mind too bruised. She closes her eyes for a split second, squeezes hard enough for the last droplets nursed in her lashes to flow down her cheeks - it's not tears, but the illusion is enough to bring her some relief. The darkness helps, too, soothes the throb at her temples, even when the muffled claps of thunder pound inside her head.

She hears the wood creak as he walks up and braces herself - recoiling in the corner of the sofa. She knows he won't push, knows she can simply let him sit here, let him work his magic and heal her wounds without asking for answers she can't give him, yet her lone wolf side is stepping on the forefront baring its teeth - wants to lick its wounds in peace.

"Kate?" Her name spills from him with an anguish that strikes deep, has her gritting her teeth when her eyes start to sting and burn. Just when she had herself together, all it takes is his voice - and she's undone.

She tries to ignore her pounding heart, how her breath stutters around the words when his shadow drifts closer - a silent specter floating through the air that has her hair at her nape standing on end. "Yeah, here."

He stops moving for a second, long enough for a gentle light to paint the room in earthy and warm shades. Her hands consciously lift to stroke her cheeks and under her eyes when he walks up to her and sits - keeping a distance between them that she feels grateful for and yet resents.

"I brought you a blanket," he tells her peering at her searchingly, his eyes gleaming in the dusky light. He starts to move as if to wrap the red throw around her shoulders, but something sudden comes across his face, making him pause. His eyes fall to his lap just as he lays the blanket next to her instead. "Here."

Her brows furrow under the pang that stabs her chest and cuts her breath short, her fingers curling around and stroking the soft fabric in a vain attempt to soothe the blow. "Thanks," she says with a short nod as she avoids looking at him.

"Coffee?" The question is simple enough, should ease her nerves, but it's too trivial and mechanical, even she can hear how it sounds - evasive action. Even from the corner of her eyes, she can see how stiff and tense he is - almost bracing himself against a potential blast. The lump in her throat swells, almost chokes her when she realizes she doesn't want that from _him_ when from anyone else, she would.

For once, she wants him to break through the wall, make her inner wounded wolf turn away his tail tucked between his legs.

"No, I- I'm good." She pins her lip with the sharp stab or her teeth, lets her finger scrape against the soft cotton. She could do with a coffee, would gladly welcome the searing of the hot porcelain that'd mark her skin and warm her chilled bones. But that would mean him moving to the other side of the room, and she'd rather keep him here - let his own body heat wrap around her, his smell quell her raw nerves.

"You're still shivering," he remarks, though this time, concern bleeds through his gruffy voice - his eyes alert on her face as he takes in her shaking frame.

She is, her muscles are so tense that she aches all over. She wants to tell him it's not because of the rain that had been kind and warm, forgiving - wants to tell him it's because he's too far, and yet her chest feels too tight and her tongue won't form the words she needs, and she snaps."I'm fine." It's harsh and not what he deserves, but she doesn't know how to accept his concern, only feels the crushing weight of her own stupid pride forcing her to reject it.

Yet, he doesn't blink, only assesses her with eyes that bore into her and keep her grounded. "Wanna talk about it?"

Does she want to? No, there is nothing to say. She let her emotions get the best of her, let them drive her against her better judgment. She knows what happened, doesn't need to talk it out.

"Not really, no," she offers as calmly as she can. His chest heaves up, then down with a sigh as he considers her closely, his scrutinizing look almost too much. He nods once and lays an arm along the backrest, his fingers brushing her shoulder. "Kay," he accepts without as much as a frown. His face is clear as he seems to wait on her, let her decide if she'll take the invitation or not without a single word or expectation.

Her fingers curl inside her palms as she weighs her options, her thrashing heart inside her chest enough of a hint. She eyes his broad chest, picking at the dead skin chapping her lip, and eventually, she just goes for it before she finds too many groundless reasons not to. She wordlessly drags herself across the sofa and lets herself rest against his chest, an arm curled around him, ear pressed down against the lulling beat of his heart. His arm comes around her, cups her shoulder and even when his scent works its way through her system, she still can't find a way to relax.

They've hugged before but never had it hold such a weight. She'd never given much thought to it because it was always easy, natural. But this is different, this is her caving in at his thoughtfulness, his willingness to offer himself without expecting anything in return.

She doesn't have anything to give him.

It's wrong in so many ways, yet that's just what she needs.

"You know you can tell me, right?"

Her hand fists around the fabric of his t-shirt as the low rumble of his voice tunes in with the muffled noise of the fading storm. "I know," she says, her voice so small she almost doesn't recognize it. She knows he'd listen, knows he would not think less of her, but she's not there yet. "One day, I will," she promises herself, even when her pulse jumps in protest.

"Whenever you're ready, Kate. I'm not going anywhere." She feels his chin dip into her hair, his thumb at her shoulder slowly going in circles against her exposed skin. Flutterings erupt in her stomach at the dedication, at the unspoken promise that coaxes her lips into a soft smile.

Something about his unusual composure has her stomach twisting, her chest tight with a radically different tension. The silence is too loud, and she's too aware of her increasing pulse as her breath comes in short puffs against his chest. She pushes herself off his chest, just enough to see his face, swallows when her heart swells up into her throat. Her hand fists the fabric of his t-shirt, clenching hard as her eyes roam over his face. "Gosh, I just- I just want to forget."

She's not sure what she's asking him, isn't fully aware of it, but his eyes darken the second the words are out. Her eyes follow the hard flexion of his throat as he swallows, "I can help."

His eyes never leave her face, only drift down to her lips briefly before coming back to her, a little drugged.

His chest undulates up and down more erratically under her, the air he blows through his nose tickling her face. "Oh?"

She blinks leisurely, breathing through the sparks that snake through her nervous system and make her mind go blank.

"Maybe," he says bringing his face so close that all she has to do is tilt her chin up.

"Maybe," she echoes, her lips brushing his as she does.

Both of them wary to make the final move, their eyes meet and fuse as they grip each other fiercely. Pushing herself up, she moves a hand up his cheek, just laying it there as her lips meet his, her fingers curling against his rough skin.

It's slow, and hesitant - their lips merely testing the waters, dancing around each other with a sluggish pace that only heightens their thirst for each other. "Is this okay?" he mumbles against her mouth, his eyes checking in with her. It's sweet, makes her fingers scrape the light stubble that covers his jaw, but her throat is dry with lust, her guts wound up tight and she needs _more_ of his lips. Angling his face with a finger, she nods before crashing into him more harshly. His low rumble vibrates through her as he chases her lips gently, but with enough pressure for her to moan at the ministrations. He doesn't waste any time and thrusts his tongue past her lips the second the sound is out, the hand at her shoulder running up her neck to cup her jaw with a reverence that almost has her choking. Her blood boils and spreads so fast that her skin feels as if it's on fire, and the moment he's biting down on her lip, she can only throw her leg over and straddle his lap. He growls in the kiss, his hold around her jaw more insistent, and the twist of her hips is so wrong, but his teeth are pinning her lower lip inside his mouth, and she might self-combust if she doesn't do anything.

She's too far gone in the silky feel of his lips, so caught up in her selfish quest for _more_ and _more_ that she can't stop her hand from skimming down his torso until they reach the hem of his t-shirt, isn't quite aware that she's pulling on it before he promptly breaks the kiss and grabs her wrist. She frowns, trying to catch her breath as she looks at him, a little stunned.

He shakes his head, gives her a small smile that twists her stomach into a vicious knot. "Not- ah. Kate-"

 _Oh._ She looks down to where she's sitting, feels a rush of blood surge up her collarbones and cheeks.

She's an idiot.

"Sorry, sorry, I'm- I thought-" she stammers in embarrassment, the searing heat of his lips still so deeply branded on her own that she can still taste him. Averting her eyes, she swallows and gets off of him, returns to her initial position.

"Hey, hey. Look at me," he calls, squatting forward so he can nudge her hand, get her to look at him. Instead, she flinches and recoils farther away. "Just - not like _that_."

A sudden wave of nausea travels up her trachea, making her take in a short intake of breath. She breathes through her nose as the words swirl around in her head, the innocent phrase like a bucket of iced water.

She thought he _wanted_ her, too.

She nods mechanically, feels herself shut off. "Yeah, you- you're right," she says willing herself to look at him in the eyes. She doesn't miss the alarmed glint that paralyzes his eyes, but she can't be here now. She misunderstood, and perhaps it was just his way to comfort her - either way, she needs to leave.

So, she stands, gives him a small smile that is more of a strain, one she can tell he doesn't buy and walks away.

When she steps outside, the world is anew - dark but serene, the sky clear and revealing its brightest stars that carry with them the promise for a better day.

_Not like that._

* * *

Richard Castle is a patient man, at least he likes to think so. If he thought kids were the best challenge and the greatest way to test one's patience, he's now more than ready to reconsider that.

Dogs are _worse_.

Today is a particularly hot day, and he thought he'd give the dog some rather lengthy play time at the park so they could stay inside the loft and enjoy the air conditioner for the rest of the day.

Buddy has a different plan, though, and has apparently decided he'd chase birds around the whole park all day. The dog may be coming of age, but he's still got more energy than Castle himself has. Besides, the scorching heat makes it impossible to walk for too long, and he can feel his skin burning already.

It's been an hour and a _half_ of chasing the damn dog around, his face is on fire, his lungs carbonized and he's afraid he's gonna collapse at any minute. Next time, he'll take Alexis' advice, _Don't let him off his leash, you'll never get him back_!

No kidding.

He's got no toys, no food, no authority whatsoever on the beast - for short: he's screwed. He sighs, decides to sit on the bench and watch as the golden retriever runs around, leaps through the air with his tongue dangling as he barks at the pigeons.

He retrieves his phone from his pocket, but just as he's about to open his zombie game, the screen lights up with an incoming call which he immediately answers.

"Richard Rodgers speaking."

Since he doesn't recognize the number, he listens carefully, but nothing could prepare him to what falls upon him here and now - and he's up on his feet and whistling for the dog before he can even answer.

Kate's in the hospital, and she's asking for _him._


	8. Chapter 8

Since he's in no state to drive, he decides to take a cab once the dog is back at the loft. Thankfully, the intuitive beast must have heard the distress in his voice, and had come running back to him without much of fight and with remorseful eyes. He spends the ride looking through the window, cursing the traffic for giving him so much time on his hands to _think._ Not knowing what exactly happened is killing him, has a crippling fear coiling around his neck like a fist, and not even rolling the windows down can ease the ache. He hangs on to the fact that _she_ asked for him personally, yet even that is part of the reason his lungs are gasping desperately for air.

She asked for _him_ and that can only mean it wasn't a matter of choice. They haven't talked in almost two weeks, not since that stormy night in the bookstore and every time he's tried calling her, she texted him that she was too busy. He believed that for the first four days, then it became clear that she was avoiding him.

It had come down on him like a rock as he'd collapsed under the weight of the harsh revelation. It had stung, a fierce pang in his chest that still burns like a raging fire.

He's long thought about what happened and easily came to the conclusion that there'd been an evident failure in communication.

He'd seen the rejection strike her right in the face like the biting lashes of a cracking whip the moment his hand had clasped around her thin wrist - had felt her recoil both physically and emotionally as far away from him as she could. It'd rattled him - one minute she was all over him trying to get him _naked,_ and the next, she was running away without so much of a look back.

He had tried to remain distant enough at first, letting her control their proximity. He hadn't pushed one bit, had let her come to him when she'd needed it, but the moment he'd felt her melt into his arms, the moment she'd brought their face so close he could smell her- he had already lost.

She had- she _has_ him in her merciless grip, has his raw, pulsing heart in the palm of her hand and she alone can decide what she'll do with it.

He realized he no longer has a say in it.

And for days now, she's been crushing it into ashes - each day that passes like a new painful squeeze of her fist.

He remembers what he said, ' _not like that'_ and while he can admit that it does sound quite terrible, he hadn't meant it like she clearly heard it, he'd just wanted to slow them down. She'd been so vibrant, so _alive -_ undulating against him like a dancing flame, so willing to throw them both down the abyss.

He remembers the words she'd said to him, her eyes begging him to heal whatever deep wound had her gripping him desperately as if he alone held the key to redemption, ' _I want to forget'._

He'd felt it in the punishing rasp of her teeth on his lip, her jerky hands fisting in his t-shirt or grabbing his ears.

He couldn't let them go there, _not like that._

He would never be able to look at himself ever again, she is worth more than _that._

He forgets sometimes that she's young, so young and impulsive - but it's not just that.

She's been different lately, ever since she started with the NYPD - like she'd been sucked out of all of her perkiness. The rare times they've managed to meet for a coffee or just to talk, he didn't recognize her; she constantly wore this mask he couldn't make her let go of, her eyes shifty and loaded with too much information, and for some reason he couldn't get to her as easily as he used to. She'd been closed off, her eyes so dark with determination, and he could tell there was something there that had nothing to do with proving her worth.

It had been hiding deep inside that darkness that used to vanish when she laid eyes on him or heard his voice, like a black mark on her soul, a curse.

He's learnt to recognize her in this, in throwing herself into something come hell or high water only to deal with the consequences - or not - later, but he _can't_ let her do this.

He doesn't want intense, doesn't want the flames of her desire if it means they crash and burn.

He does want her - still wakes up to the ghostly feeling of her lips - but not right now and definitely not _like that,_ not when she'd been so desperate, not when her heart was so raw, not if it means that there's the slimmest chance she'll regret it or worse - scrap it out of her mind and never mention it ever again.

This is what she is doing, avoiding him so they don't talk about it.

He takes the full blame, should have explained himself, ran after her and made her _understand._ Instead, he'd stood still as she'd disappeared into the night, his heart in his throat. He let her slip through his fingers like soft sand, and ever since then, he hasn't found a way to get her back.

Perhaps this is his chance to _explain._

Once the taxi comes to a halt, he blindly hands the driver a few bills, and jumps out.

She's like a wild sea he has to learn how to tame before he can dive in - because if he doesn't, they'll either drown or drift infinitely.

* * *

Everything about this is stupid.

Aside from the dull pounding in her head, she's perfectly _fine_. Yes, she knows who she is, _yes_ , she knows today's date and remembers what happened, and yet her doctor and nurses won't stop asking her again and again, _Can you tell me what your name is? What's today's date? Do you remember what happened?_ No wonder she's dizzy, they all drive her crazy and she can't help but wonder if that's part of the test.

She blacked out shortly after some guy slammed her into a wall - big _deal_. She's a big girl, she can deal with a headache. But, they don't trust her words and won't let her out if she doesn't have anyone to come get her.

She's got _work_ to get back to- except that no, she _doesn't_.

She's on _forced_ leave for _two_ stupid _days._

She could have told them to call Royce; She knows he would have come running, but she refuses to see the reproach, the _sick_ compassion in his eyes. She doesn't need compassion, she screwed up. She failed, the suspect they were supposed to watch snuck away from them - she should have seen him but she'd been too busy thinking about Castle and how damn naive she is.

So, she told the nurse to call _him_ , instead.

It's not necessarily easier, but at least, she knows he'll give her the distance she needs. Though, she can't be sure. They haven't seen each other in a while, or rather, she's been avoiding him for over two weeks and there's no way he hasn't caught onto that. She hasn't really meant to, only wanted a few days to herself - enough for the harsh sting of rejection to fade. But the longer she stayed away, the harder it was to face him.

Instead, she buried herself into work - stayed around the precinct until Royce himself kicked her out with a reprimanding look, _You're no good to me if you can't stand on your legs, Beckett. Go see that boyfriend of yours._ She'd huffed, spitting back a ' _I don't have a boyfriend'_ that had cut her breath short with the blast it had detonated inside her chest - the hard shrapnels of misguided longing lodging into her aching heart.

She'd hated how bad she had wanted for it to be a lie. She'd realized shortly after that night, and for the first time, that her feelings for him were nowhere near platonic anymore and that she _yearned_ to _have_ him, had felt it in the blow of his brush-off. She'd thought it was mutual - yet he'd pushed her away, watching as her heart bled on his lips as efficiently as his apologies had flowed from his mouth.

She'd almost thrown up on him in humiliation.

Perhaps Castle was right, perhaps they long should have put a stop to whatever they had been doing - or maybe there hasn't ever been anything to put a stop to, in the first place. She doesn't have any time for this now, can't waste time on a man that clearly doesn't see her as more than just a _needy friend._

She blows an exasperated puff of hair, her hand running through her hair in frustration and winces when her fingers brush her bump. God, she's been so stupid - yet she swears she hasn't made it all up; the way he looked at her, soft and warm, how good he always was to her. How has she gotten it all so wrong? Why did she let herself _fall_ , now of all times.

For all she knows, he only kissed her back by _pity_ \- let her take what she wanted so she'd feel better.

Her stomach protests in disgust, a wash of nausea flooding her and making her curl her arms around her knees and duck her head between her shoulders with a groan. She can't even tell what triggered such a fierce revolt: the stabbing at the back of her skull or her overwhelming and sudden heartache. Either ways, her chest feels stuffed, her stomach rolling so furiously that she has to screw her eyes closed and breathe out slow and steady to keet it at bay.

"Kate? You okay?"

She chokes on the harsh, sterile air at the sudden boom of his voice - her stomach twisting so hard a moan flows past her lips.

"Kate."

One word.

One syllable that slashes through her, and rocks the world around her - a simple sound that has her wondering why she asked for him at all.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm _fine_ ," she grits out, curling her fingers into her palms so firmly that her nails cut into her dry skin. They barely make a dent, but it's enough to distract her from his voice thick with worry.

She blows slow breaths through her nose, and if only she could settle her stomach, perhaps then she'd look less of a miserable mess.

He's hesitating. Although she can't see where he is, she hears him shift - can picture him stroking the back of his neck and shifting his weight like he so often does when he's confused or unsure.

"What happened?"

She feels her entire frame freeze the moment it washes over her arm like a summer breeze - light and warm-, when she realizes he's so close that she can feel his words on her skin.

She hasn't anticipated this - his concern. It's raw and vulnerable, makes her heart lurch in a way it doesn't have any right to.

Lifting her head up, she sighs choosing to stare ahead at the white wall. She doesn't know if she can handle the look in his eyes, the swirling blue that so easily sucks her in and makes her defenses crumble. "I made a rookie mistake and paid the price," she mutters absentmindedly as she replays it - the sound her skull had made, she thought she would never see the light of day again.

Sitting in the chair by her bed, his finger brushes her stitched brow, the sudden move drawing a gasp out of her as she flinches away from his touch. "You're hurt," he mumbles with his eyebrows furrowed, eyes hard on her as _he's_ hurt.

She shakes her head, dismissing him - _everything._ "It's nothing, can we just-"

She groans as her doctor walks in with this damn pleased grin plastered on his face, a clipboard held to his chest. "Ah! You must be Mr Rodgers?" the grey-haired man greets, holding a hand out.

Castle nods and stands, accepting the man's hand with a mere hint of a polite smile.

Her doctor returns his eyes on her, assessing her attentively as if expecting her to faint again. She rolls her eyes to the ceiling, hates having to stay on that damn bed with both men looking down at her. She's _fine._

The man in the too-large white coat pushes the bridge of his glasses up his nose. "Very well. Ms Beckett-"

"-Officer," she grumbles, doesn't even care how childish it sounds, though he barely pays attention to her, addressing Castle as if she's not even here.

"-here suffers from a mild head injury and since we suspect a concussion, she will need to be observed."

Wait, no, that isn't what they'd agreed on.

Castle glances shortly at her in confusion and just as she's about to tell him so, he beats her to it. "Meaning?"

"Meaning she'll either have to stay here for a minimum of two days-"

Two-

"-Like _hell_ -" she blurts out, letting her knees fall before her, her eyes pinning him with a look she knows could set the man in fire.

"-Or go home with someone," he finishes calmly, turning to her with raised eyebrows. "Do you know anyone who could keep an eye on you?"

She doesn't need anyone to look over her, she needs to go _home_ to her new flat, can very well take care of herself.

"No."

"Yes."

What?

Her head whips round to look at Castle, her blood boiling under her skin. What is he playing at?

His throat rolls under a hard swallow when he catches her dark glare, doubletakes between her and her doctor. "She has me- I- I mean, I've got plenty of time to watch her."

No, no. He doesn't _get_ to do that.

He looks scared of her - he should.

"Watch _me_? I'm not a _dog_ ," she snarls in indignation, her hands fisting into the fitted-sheet.

Both men ignore her completely, don't even _ask_ her how _she_ feels about the arrangement. She doesn't want to- _can't_ stay two days with Castle hovering over her. That, she can't handle.

"Alright, good. If that's fine with Officer Beckett, here, I'll let you sign the forms on your way out," her doctor says with a satisfied smile, shaking Castle's hand and nodding in her direction.

The irony.

"Nothing about this is _fine_ ," she grunts, avoiding _his_ look.

"Don't forget to stay hydrated, avoid going outside if not necessary and sleep as much as you can. Your headache should ease in two to three days."

Beckett huffs, throwing her legs over the edge of the bed and standing up in one go. She braces herself against the wall for a minute, the world spinning, little stars floating around.

Okay, too fast.

"Kate-"

She squeezes her eyes shut at the way his voice breaks around her name with an anguish that she knows is written all over his face like creases on an old newspaper.

How did they get here?

"Told you it was nothing, can we just go?" she mumbles, pushing herself off the wall.

She wishes his slumped shoulders and dull eyes wouldn't rouse such a riot inside her torn mind, wishes she didn't care.

But she does, and each breath that comes is like breathing smoke.


End file.
